


Hang a Shining Star

by allfireburns



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Angst, Bitterness, Christmas, Community: winter_deaddrop, F/M, POV Third Person, Pre-Canon, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 07:55:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allfireburns/pseuds/allfireburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three Christmases Michael and Fiona have shared, one way or another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hang a Shining Star

**Author's Note:**

  * For [halcyon_shift](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=halcyon_shift).



_Through the years we all will be together, if the fates allow  
Hang a shining star upon the highest bough  
And have yourself a merry little Christmas now..._

It's possibly a little sadistic, how much Fiona's enjoying Michael's discomfort at spending Christmas with her family. Between the usual holiday spats, the shrieking of at least five or six of Fiona's nieces and nephews, and the threatening glares her brothers kept throwing at the man who's sleeping with their "baby sister"... The last part doesn't concern Michael for his own sake, Fiona knows, but he did seem to think it would be a bad idea to injure any of Fiona's relatives, which Fiona thinks a pity - it would be fun to watch.

Actually, at this point, it's gone past "possibly a little sadistic" and on to "downright cruel". Even so, Michael can handle it, and the fact that he's putting up with it is a nice indication that he cares about her.

Fiona finds him sitting quietly in an out of the way corner, looking like he'd prefer not to be noticed. With a grin, she sits on his lap, winding one arm around his neck. "This would be a lot more fun if you were drunk. Alcohol is a requirement for family gatherings, or is that not how it works where you're from?"

He rolls his eyes, but automatically wraps an arm around her waist. "Probably, but I really couldn't say. I make a point to _avoid_ family gatherings."

Fiona sniffs, tilting her head to one side. "That's tragic, Michael."

"Story of my life."

"I brought you something," she says abruptly, a quick smile flashing on her lips. She holds up a Christmas cracker in her free hand. The smile only grows at the suspicious look on Michael's face.

"What am I supposed to do with that?"

"Pull on it."

"Is it going to explode?"

"Only a little," she says, unable to hold back a giggle.

Looking at her like he expects she's filled the little cracker with C4 or something - like that's even _remotely_ sensible - he obliges and pulls it, letting out a soft (and somewhat relieved) chuckle when in it only pops open with a loud crack instead of turning out to be an incendiary device. Fiona grabs the paper crown (pink) and sets it on Michael's head with a grin.

"Scared you, didn't I?"

"With you, I'm never sure."

Still smiling, Fiona leans in to kiss him, and murmurs softly against his lips, "Good."

* * *

Fiona should have known better than to date a spy. She keeps telling herself that, because she ought to know better than anyone that it never, ever ends well.

Of course, all things considered, it could have been worse - neither of them ended up dead, for instance. Still, it could have ended much better than a sudden disappearing act, an empty flat, and unanswered calls. That's what she gets for falling for a guy whose entire life has been devoted to secrecy and with a habit of vanishing as soon as the job's done.

The problem is, the men who _don't_ fit that description just aren't interesting.

Looking around Michael's empty flat, she feels... empty, hollowed out. It's like Michael took something of _her_ with him when he packed up all trace that he'd ever been here, and there were few enough signs anyone lived here when he _was_ here. It's cold now, the walls and floor bare, because someone like Michael is _always_ careful not to leave a way to find him when he doesn't want to be found. It wouldn't have killed him to leave a _note_, though. At least _something_.

Fiona wraps her arms around herself as if to ward off some chill, though she's already bundled up in coat and scarf against the nasty, biting winds that whip through the streets this time of year. She walks from room to room in the empty flat, maybe just to convince herself there really is nothing and no one left hidden somewhere. There are only three rooms anyway, and the combined kitchen and living room, the bedroom, and the one tiny bathroom are all empty.

It's hard to believe that barely a week ago they were lying together on a bare mattress here in the bedroom, after a fight that led to rough kisses and tender sex, Fiona with her head on Michael's chest and her fingers laced through his while they talked about the holidays. He'd been vehemently resisting the idea of another Christmas spent with her family, she'd been insisting it would be good for both of them...

There's no sign of that now, no sign it could ever possibly have happened in this place.

She finds it on the floor of Michael's tiny closet, tucked behind a couple of empty shoeboxes. It's undoubtedly left for her, because Michael doesn't do things like this accidentally, and because Michael never has things like this anyway. Fiona bends to pick it up, and hefts it in her hand, a snow globe with a silver Christmas tree inside, and a heavy black base. Simple and elegant and God, he couldn't just leave _any_ note behind, even just "I'm sorry" or "Goodbye"?

No. Not Michael's style.

Fiona backs out of the closet, back into the bedroom, and walks to the window, snow globe still in hand. She shakes it and watches as the fake snow inside swirls around the silver Christmas tree, slowing and slowing and finally settling at the base of the tree or on the boughs. At the same time, like some bitter mockery of a Christmas miracle, fresh snow sleets against the window outside, with a crystalline hiss.

This, Fiona reminds herself yet again, is why you don't fall in love with spies. They'll vanish without a trace, and they can't even leave you a proper goodbye.

* * *

Fiona hears the door open behind her, very, very slowly - it's Michael, of course. He's even more cautious than usual because he'd obviously seen the light in his apartment and suspected some ill-intentioned intruder.

Intruder, yes. Ill-intentioned? That's debatable.

She pretends not to notice it, finishing the task of hanging tinsel from the railing of what she would tentatively call Michael's loft. It would take a lot more than that to really make this place look festive, but it's the last she can do with such limited resources.

She hears the door swing slowly shut behind Michael, and then the cautious, "Fi?"

He sounds vaguely confused, somewhat annoyed, and maybe a little amused, underneath it all. Fiona's learned that it's best to ignore that tone from Michael - and so she does.

At least, until it's followed by a sigh and the question, "Fiona, what're you doing?"

She smiles, turns to face him, and starts down the stairs, pleased to see that he's wearing the same baffled and suspicious look she'd anticipated. "You owe me a Christmas," she announces, and watches his face intently for the quick progression of emotions across his features - surprise, confusion, realization, skepticism. Even she can't read Michael perfectly all the time, but times like this it's just so _easy_. And amusing.

"You've got to be joking."

Fiona reaches the bottom of the stairs and folds her arms over her chest, lifting her chin and meeting Michael's eyes. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

"Sadly, no."

"I brought eggnog, and I made cookies. We're having Christmas." She doesn't say it, but they both know there's an implied 'whether you like it or not' at the end of that sentence. He can't very well run away this time.

"Fi, I really don't want to-"

Calmly, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out her cell phone. "Either the two of us have eggnog and cookies here, or we go celebrate Christmas at your mother's house." She flips open the phone deliberately. "I can call her right now if you want."

Michael's eyes widen in horror momentarily. The moment passes, and he lets out a resigned sigh.

Fiona raises her eyebrows, silently inviting him to make a decision. The phone remains in her hand.

"How much alcohol is in this eggnog, and are the cookies both edible and non-explosive?"

She grins and closes the phone, slipping it back into her pocket. "The cookies are perfectly fine. I tried them myself." The first question, they both know, is going to be ignored.

A smile spreads across his face, seemingly despite himself. That smile always makes Fiona's heart jump just a little, though she does her best to hide it.

"Fine. I'll pay off my Christmas debt, but just this once."

Laughing softly, Fiona turns and starts for the kitchen to grab the eggnog out of the fridge, currently occupying the empty space between some leftover Chinese takeout and about twelve yogurts - typical Michael, like he doesn't eat anything else.

"I _also_ brought Christmas crackers."

She can hear his footsteps on the floor behind her, following after. "Where did you find Christmas crackers in Miami?"

"I have my sources."

"You make it sound like- Oh God. _They're_ not going to explode, are they? Any more than usual, I mean..."

Fiona turns to look at him over her shoulder, smirking mischievously. "I can't _tell_ you, Michael. Where would be the fun in that?"


End file.
